looks a lot like
the end of every beginning.
trade water breaking
on the floor below
where a mother stands––
sweat dripping down a strained brow––
for coffee ground stomach acid
thrown up into garbage pails.
tears shed.
“i love you’s” spoken.
cheers of excitement.
curses of anger.
“i can’t fucking believe this.”
both good and bad.
the bang of a dented wall.
the pop of champagne.
crossed fingers
in anticipation of a baby’s cry,
or that she’ll wake up
while the priest blesses her body
that can’t breathe on its own.
“it all feels like a dream,”
whether wonderful,
or disastrous.
a celebration of a life with so much potential,
or one well spent––
no matter how short.
it’s all the same.
the end of every beginning
looks a lot like
the beginning of every end.